


Satin In a Coffin

by QueenofBaws (Sisterwives)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, Pre-OrgXIII, Strongly implied Aeleus/Ienzo, slight divergence from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/QueenofBaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was inevitable. They would go just as the others before them had gone. It wouldn't be pretty, and it wouldn't be painless, but at least they had each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satin In a Coffin

"You're cold."  
  
"So are you."  
  
The room was still and oppressive, silent save for the steady dripping against the tiled floor. There was little conversation, but when they deemed it necessary, voices were kept low and hushed, as though they were tucked away in the library's catacombs. Something about the quiet demanded respect, demanded their obedience, and they were nothing if not acquiescent.   
  
And cold.  
  
"Can you see?"  
  
"Not so well."  
  
White. The labs had all been so blindingly  _white_. Terribly ironic, given their purpose. But the darkness had won out, in the end, hadn't it? The thick, dark tears cutting tracks down his cheeks spoke volumes of its victory. He kept his eyes shut tight, resolute that the pristine whiteness would not have the honor of being his last memory.   
  
What  _was_  the last thing he had seen? Damned if he could remember. The daysweeksmonths had run together like ink bleeding through paper, smudging and blurring the lines until all he had was a childish recollection. Lab. Dark. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Sick. Angry. Cold.   
  
So cold.  
  
"Is that…"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He hadn't flinched when his cheekbone had been touched, hadn't fluttered an eyelash as the wetness lingering there was brushed away. What was the use, anyway?  
  
The dark had taken each of them in its own way. He'd even witnessed one or two of their expirations, final exhalations. He knew how this was ending, so what did he care if he simply keeled over, or burst into flame? The result would be the same. Still, some part of him, deep down, was unspeakably disturbed by his exsanguination. Who would clean this up? It was a terrible amount of blood…and he always hated messes.   
  
But he could taste it, staining his teeth and tongue, choking him in the back of his throat. He could feel it, running from his nose, filling his lungs, lining his face with melodramatic tears. And he could hear it, pattering to the floor, creating bright red blossoms on the whitewhitewhite tile. A shiver wracked his body, weak and brittle from weeks of exhaustion and starvation. He was so very cold.  
  
"I'm tired."  
  
"Close your eyes."  
  
And then a hand, on his, over his, enveloping his. It hurt to remember how small he was, how pitiably fragile. He had spent his childhood treated as an infant, his adolescence treated as a child, and his early adulthood treated as a porcelain figure. He was tiny and weak and pathetic, but that thought was almost immediately overruled and forgotten, washed clean by the realization he was being held.   
  
Flesh memory, he thought. Better than remembering by sight.   
  
There was a heartbeat, strong but slowing, against his ear. A brass button pressed hard and unforgivingly against his cheek, and it was sure to leave an imprint, if he thought he'd ever move from this spot. He'd never stopped to think, before, on the Guards' uniforms. But it worried him, how obscenely he was marring this one. No one would ever be able to get these stains out--never. It was ruined forever. There was no coming back from this sort of damage.   
  
He swallowed hard, tasting copper as his throat clicked. And oh, he was cold.  
  
"Are you scared?"  
  
"No."  
  
A hot, dangerous pricking began behind his eyes, threatening to take him over. He had been lulled into a sort of peace, by the steady beat of the other's pulse, but now it was slowing. Beatbeat--skip--beat--skip--beatbeat--skip--skip--beat. His own fingers tightened around the other's hand.   
  
He couldn't tell if it was more blood, running down his face, or tears.  
  
"You're right here. I've never felt so safe, in my life."  
  
The room fell silent as his only lifeline ceased its beat. He followed very soon after.  
  
And God, they were both so cold.


End file.
